Honor Thy Father
by Scooter Kitty
Summary: How might Dick deal, or not deal, with Bruce's death. Makes more sense if you've read my story Kumpania.
1. Default Chapter

Standard disclaimer: These characters belong to DC Comics, I am borrowing them without permission. I  
  
am borrowing them for purely entertainment purposes and I am making no money from them…blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.  
  
*Continuity note: This story doesn't take place at any particular time, but in this story Gordon is still the Commissioner of Gotham City.  
  
  
  
HONOR THY FATHER  
  
2/5/01  
  
Dick stood listening to the sound of the rain drumming softly against the window of Bruce's office. Up here on the 40th floor of the WayneTech Headquaters Building, even the endless noise of the city was distant. Dick watched the drops of rain hit the glass, merge with other drops and form little rivulets that rushed downward, toward the street. He was mesmerized by this endless ballet, the movement of the rivulets against the glass. He had long ago lost track of the time he had spent just standing and staring at the rain. Eventually the sound of someone softly clearing their throat behind him, drew him back to his surroundings.  
  
"Dick, I'm sorry to disturb you, but everyone is here now and I think the lawyers are ready to start reading the will."  
  
"Yeah, I'll be right there," Dick said over his shoulder to Lucius Fox, the CEO of WayneTech Enterprises.  
  
Turning to leave the office, Dick's eye was caught by a silver picture frame that sat on the large, mahogany desk. It housed a photograph taken many years ago at one of the many charity functions that Bruce Wayne held. It showed Bruce and Dick standing together smiling, they were wearing matching black tuxedos and looking slightly uncomfortable. Dick was perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. He couldn't remember exactly when or where the photo had been taken. He couldn't even remember having seen the photo before now.  
  
Damn it, Bruce, he thought bitterly, how could you die on me? Why now? Why so soon? There was so much I never got the chance to say to you.  
  
Blinking back the hot, angry tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes, Dick squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and started towards the executive boardroom down the hall. Let's get this over with, he thought grimly. Besides, Bruce would probably turn in his freshly dug grave if he knew that I had kept his top executives waiting.  
  
As he stepped into the large, oval-shaped room that was dominated by a table of the same shape, a hush fell over the crowd gathered there and every eye turned towards the pale young man. Dark smudges under the eyes and cheekbones that looked a bit too hollow marred his normally flawless, handsome face. The harsh glare of TV camera lights and the sporadic flashes from still cameras only heightened this effect.  
  
At a gesture from Lucius, Dick joined him at the head of the table. As he took his seat, the rest of the large, dark-suited entourage around the table followed him. He glanced around at the somber, expectant faces turned toward him, but said nothing.  
  
Standing and laying a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder, Lucius addressed the group. "It's been a very long and sad day, so I won't take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say to Dick, on behalf of all of us, that working for Bruce Wayne all these years was a joy. The man never ceased to surprise me. He had boundless energy, endless compassion, and an unfailing dedication to Gotham City. I don't think that people truly realized any of that about him. I can honestly say that when I heard that his private jet had gone down in the Swiss Alps, it was probably the darkest day of my life. He will be sorely missed."  
  
Dick glanced up at the dark face of Bruce's right hand man in business. Lucius Fox was sort of Bruce's corporate version of Alfred, someone he completely trusted to handle things when "other" business took precedence.  
  
"Thank you, Lucius," Dick whispered and gave the man a wan smile.  
  
"Well, I guess we can get down to the business that we all came here for. I'll turn things over to Daniel Gavin, of Gavin, Gavin and Kraus, and the head of WayneTech's legal council."  
  
Lucius took his seat and another man, seated to the left of Dick, stood and cleared his throat. He was a stocky man in his late fifties with a thick shock of snow-white hair that contrasted dramatically with his perpetually red-flushed face. The man adjusted the half-frame glasses that were perched on the end of his nose and held up a small stack of papers.  
  
"This is the last will and testament of Bruce Thomas Wayne. I myself drew up the document so I can assure you all of its authenticity and legality. I'm not going to read the entire document as it is fairly long and detailed as you can all imagine considering the vast sums of wealth that was at Mr. Wayne's disposal.  
  
"The major dispensations are as follows; 'to Alfred Pennyworth, who has worked in the employ of my family as butler for nearly a half century, I leave an annual salary of one million dollars that is to continue for the rest of his natural life.'"  
  
The reading was interrupted by a great deal of hushed whispers, shock registering at such a generous bequeathment to a simple domestic servant. Gavin waited a moment for the whispers to die down before continuing.  
  
"Mr. Wayne also set up a million dollar annual allowance for the Leslie Thompkins Medical Clinic, located in the area commonly referred to as Crime Alley, as well as something he refers to as the Clocktower Fund. There are several other charities listed with much smaller donations that I won't take the time to name."  
  
Gavin paused for a moment, shuffling through his papers, ostensibly trying to find his place. He's enjoying the limelight far too much, Dick thought sourly. Just get on with it. Give them what they all came here for and let us go home.  
  
As though reading Dick's thoughts the stocky attorney cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses again and continued with his reading. "Now, getting down to the heart of the matter, as most everyone here knows Mr. Wayne was a devout bachelor and unfortunately died without leaving an heir of his own body…"  
  
Gavin paused again to read directly from the document.  
  
"'The remainder of my wealth, the control of the company that my family built and all of its subsidiaries, the house that has been in my family for generations, the grounds on which it stands, as well as everything contained therein, I leave to my former legal ward and foster son, Richard John Grayson.'"  
  
Dick took a deep breath and bowed his head ignoring the camera flashes going off and the burst of questions directed at him from the various media members. Of course he had known that Bruce was leaving everything to him, but somehow it seemed so different hearing it read officially here in this boardroom in front of all the media. It's really true. Bruce really is dead. He isn't coming back this time. I really am Batman now.  
  
It suddenly felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He was having trouble getting enough oxygen into his lungs. Dick stood shakily to deliver his already prepared statement, but as he looked up at all the faces leaning in towards him demanding his attention, the room began to spin. He turned to Lucius to ask for some water, but his vision abruptly narrowed, then blackness closed around him.  
  
The feel of something cool and wet against his forehead, pulled Dick back from the darkness. He opened his eyes slowly to look into the warm brown eyes of Leslie Thompkins. She smiled.  
  
"Welcome back," she said gently. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Like my head's about to explode."  
  
"When's the last time you ate?"  
  
"You mean, like, food?" He tried very hard, but just couldn't seem to remember when the last time solid food had passed his lips.  
  
"Yes, food, you know, that solid stuff that you actually have to chew. Those vile protein concoctions that you and Bruce drink don't count."  
  
Realizing what she had just said, Leslie looked away flustered. Dick sat up gingerly and put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"It's going to be okay. We'll get through this," he whispered. He handed the wet washcloth that she had laid on his forehead back to her. "So, how much of an ass did I make of myself?"  
  
"You did not make an ass of yourself, Dick. I think everyone in that room understood."  
  
Dick nodded absently and rubbed his temples, trying to clear his throbbing head. He had been lying on the long, black leather upholstered couch in Bruce's office. The lights were dim and when the door to the office abruptly opened the sudden addition of light and noise from the outside lobby, sent pain knifing into Dick's skull. With a groan, he buried his head in his hands.  
  
"How are you, young sir?" Alfred asked gently, entering the room and closing the door behind him. There was a brief buzz of activity when the door opened as reporters camped in the lobby tried vainly to get a peek inside at Gotham City's newest Most Eligible Bachelor.  
  
"I'll live."  
  
Leslie smiled warmly at Alfred and said, "He'll be alright. He just needs a decent meal and a good night's sleep."  
  
Dick shook his head. "No time," he said. "Alfred, I need you to call everyone together tonight, including Helena. There's a lot we need to discuss."  
  
"Dick, surely this can wait until tomorrow. You just collapsed, that's your body's way of telling you that you need to slow down and take care of yourself."  
  
"I didn't collapse, Leslie, I just passed out. If it will make you feel better, I'll sleep in the car on the way back to the manor. And I'm sure Alfred can whip something up for me to eat when we get there."  
  
"Oh, yes, I have plenty of experience with 'whipping' things up," Alfred said dryly.  
  
Dick smiled at him sheepishly. "Thank you," he said. "Can you make those phone calls from the car phone while I talk to Lucius for a few minutes? I'll meet you at the car."  
  
"Yes sir, I'll take care of everything."  
  
Standing, Dick straightened his tie and allowed Alfred to help him back into his suit coat. He squeezed the older man's shoulder.  
  
"I'll see you in a few minutes, and thank you, Leslie," he said as he turned and left the office.  
  
Sighing heavily, Leslie accepted the hand Alfred offered to help her up from her kneeling position on the floor. Once back on her feet, she smoothed out her long, dark skirt and rubbed her aching back.  
  
"Well, it looks like it's starting already," she said. "I had hoped that Dick wouldn't feel the need to be quite as driven as Bruce was, but …"  
  
"As you said earlier, he'll be alright," Alfred said optimistically, "he just needs some time to settle into the new role."  
  
"I desperately hope you're right."  
  
Dick sat staring impassively at the expectant faces of his new team. Robin, Batgirl and Azreal were all in costume, awaiting his instructions. Behind him, on the large computer screen, Oracle's computer-generated image gazed out impassively. Dick was the only one not in costume. He was dressed simply in a close-fitting, one-piece, black tracksuit.  
  
"Uh, what, exactly are we waiting for?" Robin asked finally, unable to stand the silence any longer.  
  
"We're waiting for the last member of the team to arrive," Dick answered. "I want everyone here for this."  
  
The other three exchanged puzzled looks. Robin glanced up momentarily at the big screen, not that he really expected any hints from the computerized image. Heaving a sigh, he settled in for the wait, which turned out to be much shorter than expected.  
  
Everyone turned toward the outside entrance to the Batcave as Bruce's black Bentley pulled into the cave. Alfred stepped out from the driver's side and walked around to the back passenger side and opened the door. Extending his hand, he helped the Huntress to step from the vehicle. She looked around in amazement.  
  
"So, this must be the famous Batcave," she said.  
  
"Yes," Dick said, standing and moving towards her. "Welcome…my name is Dick Grayson."  
  
He extended his hand to her. Returning his firm handshake, she smiled and nodded.  
  
"Well then, if you're Dick Grayson…then Batman is…was, Bruce Wayne."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I see. So, are you Batman now?"  
  
"That's what we're here to discuss. Huntress, I don't think you've been formally introduced…this is Azreal." Dick indicated the tall, blond man in the armor and red cape.  
  
The man removed his hood and mask and extended his hand. "Jean-Paul Vallee," he said.  
  
Huntress paused for only a second. Oh, what the hell, it's not like I've got anything left to hide, she thought, removing her own mask.  
  
"Helena Bertinelli," she said, shaking the man's hand.  
  
"This is Batgirl," Dick continued the introductions.  
  
The girl pulled back her full hood to reveal shoulder-length black hair and delicate Oriental features. "Call me Cassandra," she said haltingly.  
  
Helena nodded to the girl and they moved to the last member of the team.  
  
"And you know Robin."  
  
When the boy remained conspicuously silent, Helena raised an eyebrow expectantly. The dark-haired boy shifted a bit uncomfortably.  
  
"Sorry, it's just Robin," he said, sheepishly.  
  
"Don't take it personally," Dick said smiling, "even the Oracle doesn't know his real name."  
  
"Well, aren't we the mystery man," Helena said.  
  
The boy glanced down at his feet, a slight blush coloring his cheeks below his mask.  
  
Clearing his throat, Dick drew everyone's attention to himself and turned to address the image on the computer screen.  
  
"Now that we're all here. Oracle, why don't you take over," he said.  
  
The flat, computer-modulated voice, carefully pitched to a non-gender- specific tone, echoed eerily in the vast cave.  
  
"After the incident with Bane, Batman came to realize that he needed a final contingency plan, a last will and testament, if you please. He recorded it onto CD-rom and left it in my keeping. He asked me to play it for all of you, in the event that something should happen to him. As we all know, that event has happened. Batman, Bruce Wayne, is dead. This is the recording he left behind…"  
  
There was a moment of silence as the computer screen went blank then an image of Batman came up. He was seated in a chair and dressed in costume, his cowl pushed back, his hair tousled. He looked tired. From the details apparent in the background, the recording had been made recently, since the cave had been rebuilt.  
  
"Since the Oracle is playing this for you, I can only assume that something dire has happened. I am dead, comatose, or missing. If I have died as Batman, I must assume that you have managed to protect my secret identity, otherwise why bother to watch this?" He gave a short humorless laugh, but sobered immediately.  
  
"If this is the case, Alfred and Oracle already have a detailed plan to plant a diversionary trail to trick everyone into believing that Bruce Wayne is still alive. They will run through this plan for approximately one year, after which I will have an unfortunate accident and will be declared legally dead.  
  
"This plan, of course, is based on the assumption that someone will have assumed the role of Batman in my place. Even if Batman's 'death' was spectacularly public, if another one appears days later, it will only help our cause, reinforcing the thought that Batman cannot be killed, in the minds of the criminal element. And if that death was not public, hopefully no will even notice the difference.  
  
"Dick, I ask you to take up the mantle in my place. I know that I am asking a lot from you. I am asking you to give up the life that you have made for yourself in Bludhaven. But I only ask for one year. I don't want anyone to connect the death or disappearance of Batman with the death or disappearance of Bruce Wayne. If a year separates these occurrences, it will be much less suspicious.  
  
"Of course, if I have died as Bruce Wayne, it makes things much easier. I will, of course, leave everything to you and all you have to do is take over as Batman, again, for one year only, if that is your wish.  
  
"Robin, Azreal, if Dick is unable or unwilling to take up the mantle, I ask that you respect my choice. If Dick does not become Batman, than no one does and to hell with the consequences. I also ask that you follow him just as you would me, this includes you too, Batgirl, Oracle. Dick is Batman now."  
  
Bruce paused for a moment and looked down. It seemed as if there was more he wanted to say, but didn't know how to start. He looked up again and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He sighed and made a gesture of resignation.  
  
"Uh, that's enough for now, Oracle, but I…I may have more later."  
  
The screen became black and seconds later returned to image of the Oracle. Dick turned back to face his team.  
  
"Well, you've all seen it, any objections?" he asked.  
  
No one spoke for a long moment. Then Huntress cleared her throat softly.  
  
"I, uh, couldn't help but notice that Batm-Bruce didn't mention me in his little roster run down."  
  
"Yes, well, I'm making my first executive decision. The team is short one body, I need to fill the void. Do you want the job or not?"  
  
The two stared at each other for a long moment then Huntress shrugged one shoulder.  
  
"Sure, what the hell, it's not like I've got anything better to do."  
  
"And you understand that I'm in charge?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," she said, giving him a mock salute.  
  
"Good, come by the cave tomorrow night. I'll get you caught up with the rest of the team in terms of equipment, communication protocols, etc… This meeting is over. It's late, the rest of you can go out if you like, but I'm going to bed. It's been a long day. Good night."  
  
Dick sank down in the chair behind him and swiveled it around to face the computer. Once the others had drifted out of the cave and only Dick remained, the Oracle image disappeared from the screen to be replaced by Barbara Gordon's lovely features.  
  
"Are you sure bringing Huntress into the team was a good idea?" she asked.  
  
"What I said earlier is true, we're down a body, she can fill the gap. Besides, if she's on the team, I can keep a closer eye on her."  
  
"Oh, I get it, the old 'keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer' routine?"  
  
"Helena hardly qualifies as an enemy."  
  
"Right, I guess you just forgot about that Huntress/Pettit team up during the NML. You know, the one that almost got both of us killed?"  
  
"Don't go there, Barbara."  
  
Barbara was momentarily taken aback. There was a definite cold edge to Dick's voice and it had been many years since he had addressed her as anything but "Babs".  
  
"Dick, are you alright?" she asked gently.  
  
He sighed heavily. "I'm fine," he said wearily.  
  
"You look exhausted. Why don't you go get so-."  
  
"Some sleep? Don't worry, that's where I'm headed, Mother," he snapped angrily.  
  
"Dick, I…" she started, clearly hurt by his words.  
  
"No, Babs, I'm sorry, I had no right to snap at you like that. It's just that I'm getting really sick of people asking me if I'm all right… I worked so hard to build myself a new life, one separate from Bruce. I have friends, I have a job I truly enjoy and I think I was actually starting to make a difference in Bludhaven. But because of a stupid mechanical failure on an airplane, I lose not only my closest friend, my…father, but I lose my life as well."  
  
As he spoke Dick's voice rose in volume and he became increasingly agitated.  
  
"And the worst part is, I could handle it, in fact, I would be happy to give up everything for him if he could have just given me…something back. Anything, a 'thank you', or a 'good job, son', anything, but I got nothing. You saw the recording. There was nothing, just his usual 'be a good soldier and do as you're told' routine. And I can't argue with him, I can't even tell myself that maybe he'll give me something more later, because he's dead!"  
  
Dick was standing now, his fists clenched and his body shaking visibly. With a deep breath, he leaned over the computer console and bowed his head.  
  
"He's dead," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. It was obvious that he was fighting to maintain control and not break down.  
  
"Dick, it's okay," Barbara said softly, wishing desperately that she were there in person so that she could provide him with physical comfort as well as kind words. "It's okay to feel angry, none of this is fair. And you don't have to act strong in front of me. You can let it go, it won't change my opinion of you."  
  
Much calmer now, Dick looked up and gave her a weak smile.  
  
"Thank you for listening to my rantings, but I can't let go. I don't have the time for that luxury. There's too much to do. But right now, I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Good night, Babs."  
  
Barbara left the connection open, watching as he wearily stood and climbed the long stairway up to the manor. Only when she was sure that he had indeed done as he said he would and hadn't changed his mind and come back down, did she terminate the transmission.  
  
Batman stood atop the four-story Gotham First National Bank building and surveyed the skyline. So far it had been a quiet night, no major crimes, just a couple of muggings and a break-in attempt. Robin was scheduled to meet him there in fifteen minutes. Batman would have a plan of action ready by the time the youth joined him.  
  
Dick reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced slightly, his eyes closed. Despite the aspirins he'd taken earlier, the headache was returning. They were fast becoming a regular part of his life. Between spending most of his days at WayneTech and his nights on the streets, finding time to sleep was difficult. And unfortunately, even when he did manage to find a few hours for a quick nap, sleep didn't seem to come easily. He often found himself just lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind too busy to allow rest.  
  
Dick knew that Bruce often took advantage of his playboy persona to "play hooky" from work to get some extra sleep or recover from injuries when he needed to, but for some reason Dick just couldn't bring himself to adopt the same strategy. He desperately wanted to be perceived as a responsible young man, as someone who could handle the job. Perhaps it was because he was not Bruce's son biologically that made him try so hard. He did not bear the Wayne name and therefore felt that he had to prove himself to Bruce's executives.  
  
Even as preoccupied as he was, Batman was instantly aware of a slight flapping sound and a hint of movement behind him. His body tensing, he slipped a hand down to his belt and pulled out a batarang. He calmly turned to face whoever was sneaking up on him, ready for anything. Seeing a tall, very muscular silhouette floating slowly towards him and a momentary flash of a red cape, Batman replaced the batarang but did not lose the tension in his body. What is Superman doing here, he thought. Checking up on me?  
  
As his feet touched the rooftop, Superman strolled forward calmly, easily. But his sharp, alien eyes quickly detected the tense, defensive lines in the body of the younger man before him. Odd, he thought, I would have expected this reaction from Bruce, but Dick and I have always gotten along. I always considered us to be on friendly terms.  
  
"Superman," the dark caped man said, evenly.  
  
Well, he certainly has the Voice down, Superman thought. He could detect that the younger man's voice was a shade or two higher pitched than his mentor's had been, but he doubted that anyone with less sensitive hearing would notice the difference.  
  
"Batman, I just dropped in to see how everything was going. I assume that things are …running smoothly?"  
  
"As can be expected."  
  
Superman nodded. "Actually, I just came from the Watchtower. It's just not the same up there without a dark, brooding presence lurking in the shadows."  
  
He had intended the comment as a joke, to ease the tension from the conversation. But when he got no reaction, he cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
  
"What I'm trying to ask, is if you would like to … resume your place in the Justice League. We've all discussed it and you are more than welcome to join us."  
  
There was a long pause as the dark caped young man considered this offer.  
  
"I thank you for the invitation," he said, finally, "but I'm afraid I must decline."  
  
"But we-."  
  
"I'm sorry," the younger man interrupted. "But I-I'm just not ready."  
  
The older man seemed about to protest further, but stopped and instead asked, "Are you alright?"  
  
There was a slight pause. "I'm fine, I just need some time to adjust." The voice was tight.  
  
"Yes, well, please let me know if you change your mind."  
  
Turning, the brightly clad figure took a few steps away, then simply leaped into the air and silently disappeared into the night. As Dick watched the retreating figure, he became aware of another presence on the rooftop and turned to see Robin emerge from where he had been crouched behind a roof vent.  
  
"Wow, what did he want?" the youth asked as he approached.  
  
"He came to invite me to join the JLA."  
  
"Really? Cool."  
  
"I told him no."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Robin, I can barely keep up with what's going on in Gotham City. I'm certainly not ready to try to tackle a world crisis."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. So, what's the game plan for tonight?"  
  
"Well, things seem to be pretty quiet around here. I say we head to the upper west side, see if thing's are a little more lively at that end of town."  
  
The youth gestured for Batman to lead. "I'll be right behind you."  
  
Alighting on the roof of the nearest tall building, the two crime- fighters walked to the edge and scanned the streets below them. Things seemed to be pretty quiet at this end of town as well. Dick was almost beginning to think that perhaps he was going to get a decent night's sleep for once.  
  
"Aw, man," Robin whined, "the first night in weeks that I finally manage to sneak away from school and into town and nothings happening. Nothing, not even a mugging."  
  
"You do realize that these are good things, don't you?" Dick asked dryly.  
  
"Well, yeah, but I wanted some action."  
  
As if on cue, they heard a woman's scream coming from very close by.  
  
"Yes!" Robin hissed, pumping a fist.  
  
"You know, you worry me sometimes," Dick said, already playing out his jumpline and preparing to swing into action.  
  
In perfect synchronization, the two young men swung off the building and out over the street towards the alley where the scream had come from. They dropped silently behind a small knot of five men who had cornered a young woman and were advancing on her menacingly.  
  
"Excuse us, gentlemen, but could we have a word with you a moment?" Robin asked glibly.  
  
The men turned around and a couple of them paled visibly.  
  
"Aw, man, it's The Bat," one man mumbled.  
  
"Chill, Rico," a muscular blond said confidently, "it's five against two, or should I say one and a half. I'd say the odds are in our favor."  
  
"You've never fought The Bat and his Brat before, have you?"  
  
Ignoring Rico, Blondie strolled forward confidently, cracking his knuckles.  
  
"Okay, who wants to go first?"  
  
Turning to Robin, Batman said, "Get the girl to safety."  
  
Turning back, he gestured the blond man forward.  
  
With a flash of yellowed teeth, Blondie pulled a switchblade from the top of his boot and dropped to a crouch. Batman stood impassive and unmoving, his cape settled over him, completely cloaking his body. He didn't even shift his body as the knife-wielding man began to slowly circle him.  
  
Meanwhile, Robin was cautiously approaching the girl where she had curled up in a frightened ball against the wall at the back of the alley. Tearing his eyes away from the impending fight between his blond friend and the vigilante, the man nearest the girl stepped up to challenge Robin.  
  
"Uhn-uh, Little Birdie, that's our prize. You go get your own."  
  
The man was taller than the youth by several inches, but he had a lean, wiry build. His weapon of choice also was a switchblade. With his much shorter reach, Robin was at a disadvantage, until he extended his retractable bo staff. At the sight of it, the older man's look of confidence wavered slightly.  
  
"So, the Little Birdie has teeth after all," he sneered.  
  
Without a word, Robin swung one end of his staff across the man's face. With the other end he swept the man's feet out from under him. With a final blow to the head, Thug #3 was down for the count. Robin looked up just in time to see Thug #4 rushing him.  
  
With Batman's attention focused on Blondie and Robin busy with his man, the smallish man addressed earlier as Rico, began cautiously making his way over to the girl. As he moved, he slipped out his own blade, a large scuba knife, with a serrated edge on one side and a smooth edge on the other.  
  
On his second circuit around the still motionless Batman, Blondie made his move, leaping at the vigilante from behind. With barely a telltale ripple of cape, the masked man spun around, the heel of his boot connecting with Blondie's jaw with a solid crack. Blondie collapsed to the pavement in an unmoving heap.  
  
Batman glanced up at the fifth thug and smiled. With a look of sheer panic, the man screamed and literally flung himself at the dark-cowled crimefighter. A simple fist to the jaw brought the man down. Batman looked over in time to see Robin finish off his second opponent with a jab to the gut with his staff and a fist across the jaw. Both men turned to see Rico standing behind the girl. He was holding her head by the hair, his knife against her throat.  
  
"Don't come any closer or I swear I'll cut her," the man warned.  
  
Batman took a deliberate step forward.  
  
"Don't be stupid, Rico," he said quietly. "You so much as bruise that girl and you can forget about ever sleeping again, because I'll be on your ass so hard I'll be in your dreams. You'll see my shadow every time you close your eyes. Now, let the girl go."  
  
The look in the man's eyes was verging on hysterical and for a moment, Robin worried that he actually might carry out his threat. With a sudden burst of energy, Rico flung the girl toward Batman and bolted around him as he lunged forward to catch her.  
  
"Robin, take her!" Batman barked sharply as he thrust the now limp girl into the younger man's arms and started after the fleeing thug.  
  
Emerging from the alley, Batman just caught sight of Rico disappearing down a side street half a block away. Pumping his legs as hard as he could, Batman ate up the distance between himself and the other man. Reaching out, he grabbed onto one of Rico's arms and spun him around. Using his forward momentum, he delivered a devastating punch to the man's midsection. Rico doubled over with a loud groan. He groaned again as a kneecap connected with his chin. Pulling him up by the hair, Batman cocked a fist back for another blow, when a voice penetrated the fury-induced haze in his brain.  
  
"That's enough, he's done!"  
  
Abruptly, the anger drained from his limbs. Glancing back, he saw the slightly shocked look on Robin's face. Batman thrust Rico's swaying body towards the boy who caught him before he could hit the ground.  
  
"Call GCPD," Batman said quietly as he drifted off into the shadows.  
  
The dark, shadowy figure stood atop a nearby building, watching as the cops took away the now-conscious thugs and an ambulance took away the traumatized, but relatively unharmed girl. Not knowing why he did what he did, Dick slunk back further into the shadows as Commissioner Gordon's eyes drifted up and scanned past the place where he was standing. He was reluctant to have to face the man, but he knew that he would have to sooner or later. The slight scrape of a boot alerted him to Robin's arrival.  
  
"I'm sorry I left you to deal with the cops alone," Dick said without turning around.  
  
"It's okay," Tim said. "Gordon asked about you."  
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
"That you were in a bad mood."  
  
Dick had to give a short laugh at that. "That's true enough, I guess."  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm fine… It's getting late, do you want a ride back to school?"  
  
"Sure, thanks."  
  
The ride back to Brentwood Academy, on the outskirts of the city, was long and quiet. As they were approaching the school grounds, Tim couldn't keep silent any longer.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Bruce?"  
  
"There's nothing to talk about, Tim. He's dead."  
  
"Then why are you acting so weird?"  
  
"How am I acting weird?"  
  
"You're acting all moody and morose…you're acting like him. Just because you take over his role, doesn't mean you have to take over his personality."  
  
The silence was excruciating.  
  
"Dick, say something."  
  
"What do you want to hear?"  
  
"That you're okay. That nothing is going to change with us."  
  
Dick slowed the batmobile to a stop. They were within sight of the school grounds. He couldn't go any further without running the risk of attracting attention. He turned to face Tim.  
  
"I am fine, Tim. I'm just tired. And everything is going to be all right. Go on, you'd better get back to your room before someone notices you're gone."  
  
"Okay," Tim said, managing a weak smile. "See ya, later."  
  
Leslie finished wrapping the bandages around Dick's ribs and stepped back to busy herself with tidying the implements of her trade. She turned back to her patient as he gingerly stretched his arms overhead, testing his range of motion.  
  
"Easy, you'll rip the stitches open. I don't suppose it'll do any good to tell you to take it easy for a while?"  
  
Dick just glared at her.  
  
"No, I didn't think so. Here, at least take these painkillers. They'll help you sleep through the night. Alfred tells me that you haven't been sleeping very well."  
  
"Alfred should mind his own business."  
  
"Dick, he's concerned about you and, frankly, so am I. You aren't taking care of yourself. You're taking unnecessary risks. I'd almost say that you're deliberately trying to kill yourself… Are you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Trying to kill yourself?"  
  
"Why would I do that?"  
  
"To get back at Bruce."  
  
"How can I get back at Bruce? He's dead."  
  
"I know that, do you?"  
  
"What? Of course I know that he's dead. If he wasn't, I wouldn't be wearing that damn cape and cowl."  
  
"Then why won't you let him go? Why do you keep trying to punish him if you know that he's dead?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dick said, standing a bit unsteadily and starting to put his uniform shirt back on. There was a bloody rent in the black fabric where a gangbanger had gotten a lucky knife slash on him. Dick had to admit that these "lucky shots" were becoming more and more frequent of late.  
  
"You are so angry at Bruce for dying that you can't let him go," Leslie said. "And if you don't let him go and get on with your life, you're going to get yourself killed."  
  
"Get on with my life? How can I get on with my life? It's back in Bludhaven. I had to leave it behind, along with my career, because Bruce…" He couldn't continue, not without losing control completely and he wasn't going to do that. "I have to get back to the cave, I'm sure Robin and Oracle will be calling in to check on me."  
  
"Dick, please take the painkillers. Please, at least try to get some sleep. For me," Leslie begged.  
  
He nodded reluctantly and accepted the brown plastic bottle half full of white caplets. He had no intention of taking them, but he would humor her. He slipped the bottle into one of the pouches of his utility belt. As he went to reach for his cape, pain shot through his side and he hissed loudly, trying to stifle a groan.  
  
"Here, let me," Leslie said, helping to settle the heavy cape over his shoulders. "You know, it's okay to ask for help once in a while. No one would think you were weak."  
  
She reached a hand up to lightly trace one bruised cheekbone. "Please, be careful," she whispered.  
  
The batmobile pulled into the Batcave and came to a screeching halt. Almost before the vehicle was completely stopped, the passenger door flung open and Robin jumped out to stalk angrily towards the huge computer console. The driver's side door opened and a much more calm Batman exited the vehicle.  
  
Tearing the mask from his face and flinging it across the room, Robin whirled around to face his partner, fury marring his handsome, youthful features.  
  
"What the hell were you doing?! What were you trying to prove? Were you trying to get yourself and all those men killed?" the boy yelled.  
  
"I was trying to stop a group of terrorists from blowing up the Gotham City Stock Exchange," the answer was delivered in a calm and dispassionate voice.  
  
"How? By blowing them and yourself up?"  
  
"I diffused the bomb. No one was hurt. I'm here, they're in police custody and I don't think they'll be too anxious to try something like that in Gotham City again. So, what exactly is your problem?"  
  
"You waited until the last possible second before you finally diffused the bomb. You didn't need to do that. You already had the terrorists in custody. You didn't need to play mind games with them. That was just pointlessly cruel."  
  
"No, there was a definite point. They're terrorists, Tim, they thrive on creating fear and panic. I turned the tables on them and gave them a taste of their own terror. As I said, others may think twice before they pick Gotham City as a target if they know that we aren't the frightened sheep they think we are. I fought fire with fire, it's what Bruce would have done and you know it."  
  
Much calmer now, Tim had to admit that Dick was right. It was what Bruce would have done, but maybe that was what was really bothering him.  
  
"But Dick, you're not Bruce. You used to rail at him for doing things like that just as I'm yelling at you now. You're doing things that are against your nature to do."  
  
"Maybe you don't really know my nature," Dick said, slipping the cowl back and running a hand through his black hair.  
  
"Right now, I think I know it better than you do. Look, I know that you're still hurting from losing Bruce, we all hurt too, but you're not dealing with the pain. You just keep swallowing it and burying it further down inside. But you can't keep burying it, you've got to let it out and deal with it. And trying to become Bruce isn't going to help. It's tearing you apart, because you aren't Bruce. You've got to let him go."  
  
"Like you did?" Dick asked quietly. "You certainly seemed to have gotten over his death quickly."  
  
"That's not fair. I do hurt. I miss him too, but he wasn't my father. He was my mentor, a much respected and, yes, loved mentor, but still just a mentor. But you…Dick, you are the brother I never had," the boy had to pause to try to compose himself before he could continue.  
  
"My partnering with Bruce was never really about him, it was about you. The most treasured memories I have of my short crime-fighting career are ones that involve you, not Bruce. Losing him hurts, but I can deal with it. But…I can't lose you. And I can't help feeling like I am losing you. You're becoming more and more reckless and aggressive and I can't help feeling like you're going to self-destruct. And…I don't think I'll be able to deal with that."  
  
Dick was silent for a long time, staring down at the computer console that he was leaning against. When he finally did speak, his voice was a monotone whisper.  
  
"If you feel so strongly that I'm out of control, maybe it would be best if we dissolved this partnership… I think, maybe you should leave."  
  
"What? Dick, no, don't do this. Please don't fire me."  
  
The eyes that looked up at Tim were not the eyes that he was used to seeing. They were not the bright, mischievous blue eyes of Dick Grayson, but the pained, haunted eyes of an old man.  
  
"Get out," he whispered.  
  
Tim just stood staring, unable to move.  
  
"Get out!" Dick yelled.  
  
The boy turned and fled from the cave, pausing only long enough to scoop up his mask from the floor where he had thrown it.  
  
Dick didn't know how long he had been sitting, just staring into space, his mind and body numb. The soft beep from the computer, alerting him of an incoming transmission from Oracle, brought him back to reality. He glanced up as Barbara's face appeared on the large screen before him. She didn't look happy.  
  
"I just spoke with Robin," she said, without preamble. "You fired him? After everything you two have been through, you fired him. I already knew about the stunt you pulled at the stock exchange. Have you completely lost your mind?"  
  
"I did what I thought was best for Robin. I don't want him to be in a situation that he isn't comfortable with. I knew that he would never terminate the partnership himself because he feels a loyalty to me, so I ended it for him."  
  
"You had no right to make that decision for him. He was expressing concern for you. We're all starting to get very concerned about you."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"So you keep saying, and yet, everyday you become less and less like yourself and more and more like Batman, not Bruce, Batman. It's like your entire persona is being taken over by that cape and cowl. You're worse than he ever was. My God, Dick, even Huntress was shocked by your aggressiveness… I think maybe you need to step back for a while. Let the others handle things. You need a break. You need sleep."  
  
"Are you through?"  
  
"Wha-? …Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Good night, Oracle."  
  
Dick stood and walked to the back of the computer console where all the connecting cables were located. Without another word he grasped the thick bundle of patchcords and modem wires and yanked them from the computer. All the various screens and machines went black and an eerie, but satisfying silence filled the cave. Of course Dick would need most of these machines up and running again very soon. He would have to sit down and sort through all those cables to figure out which ones went to which machines so that he could have access to his computers while keeping Oracle out, but for now, the silence was liberating.  
  
Alfred paced the length of the large kitchen fretfully. He had seen the small red sensor light, located just to the right of the estate's security system come on, indicating the return of the batmobile. Normally this would have brought feelings of relief, knowing that his young master had returned from his night of fighting crime, but these days the feelings that light invoked were much more mixed. These days Alfred Pennyworth seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety. He worried far more than he used to while his master was away and that worry never seemed to fully abate even after the young man had safely returned. And the worry seemed to be increasing nightly.  
  
"Alfred, please calm down. I don't want to have to start worrying about your health too."  
  
Alfred turned to face the warm smile and beautifully kind face of Leslie Thompkins, the woman he had loved since the day he had met her. On any other night he would find gazing into her endless, dark eyes a delight, but tonight he had to quickly look away. He knew that what they were about to do was necessary, but it still felt very wrong.  
  
On the counter in front of Leslie sat an oriental, black lacquer, serving tray and a simple, white ceramic teapot and teacup. Every night Alfred brought tea to his young master upon his return. The tea was an herbal mixture that was supposed to promote relaxation and induce sleep. So far the effects of the tea on Dick had been negligible. So tonight Leslie had decided to up the ante by liberally lacing the tea with Valium.  
  
"Alfred, it's for the best. You know that," Leslie said, sensing his train of thought.  
  
"Yes, I do know that, but how did it come to this? How did we let things get so far out of hand?"  
  
"We didn't. We can't grieve for him. He has to work through this himself. All we can do is stand by and try to keep him from killing himself or someone else in the process."  
  
"And drugging him is an acceptable means to that end?"  
  
"Yes," she answered firmly. "I think his lack of sleep is affecting his perceptions and his judgment. There are stages that everyone goes through in the grieving process. One of those stages is anger. I think Dick is stuck in the anger stage. Hopefully if he can get some sleep, it will offer him a new perception and he can finally move forward."  
  
"I don't think it will. I think that what's making him angry will still be there when he wakes up."  
  
"You mean that Bruce is dead? He has to accept that some time."  
  
"Oh, I think he has accepted that. The fact that Master Bruce could die was always a possibility, from the time that Master Dick first met him. I think that is something that he has always accepted. I think what Master Dick is unable to accept is the timing of Master Bruce's death."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"As you well know, Master Dick and Master Bruce always had a very rocky relationship. But the past few years they had been able to work things out and, I think, they were much closer than they had been for many years. But for all of that, Master Bruce never did truly acknowledge Master Dick as his equal. He never acknowledged Master Dick's skills, as a fighter or as a detective. And most importantly, he never truly acknowledged Master Dick as his son. Oh, he made the odd praising comment now and again, to be sure, but there was never the straightforward declaration that Master Dick so desperately craved. And now that he's dead, none of that can ever happen."  
  
"My God, Alfred, you may truly be on to something. And if that is the case, I don't know how we can help him. I mean, I know that Bruce loved him. I know that he thought of Dick as his son, but I never once actually heard him say it."  
  
"No, nor me either," Alfred said sadly.  
  
The two sat in silence for a moment. The sound of Dick entering the kitchen drew their attention. They glanced at each other fleetingly, each drawing resolve from the other.  
  
"Ah, Master Dick," Alfred said quickly. "I'm terribly sorry, I have been remiss in my duties. I haven't had a chance to prepare sandwiches for you and Master Timothy."  
  
"That's okay, Alfred, I'm not hungry and Tim already left…He won't be coming back."  
  
Alfred and Leslie stared at each other for a long moment, the doctor's look taking on even more determination.  
  
"Oh, I see," Alfred whispered at last.  
  
"What are you doing here, Leslie?" Dick asked.  
  
"Oh, uh, I just stopped by to drop off some arthritis medication for Alfred," she answered, using the excuse the two had already agreed on.  
  
"I didn't know you had arthritis, Alfred," Dick said. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Oh, yes, it's just a little twinge now and again, nothing to worry about," the butler said, rubbing his knuckles. "Now, here, let me pour you some tea."  
  
He fussed with the tea for a moment then handed the cup over to his young master. Dick accepted the cup gratefully, wrapping his chilled fingers around the warm ceramic. He was about to take a sip, when he became aware that the older couple was watching him intently. He glanced back and forth at them a moment before his eyes rested on Leslie.  
  
"What's in the tea?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, it's just that herbal mixture that you like," Alfred answered quickly. "I just put some honey in it to sweeten it up a bit."  
  
"I was asking her," Dick said quietly. "What's in the tea?"  
  
The older woman returned his steady laser-blue gaze defiantly for moment before she finally dropped her eyes to her lap.  
  
"About 15 milligrams of Valium," she said with a sigh.  
  
He heaved his own heavy sigh, shaking his head in disappointment. He set the cup down on the counter with an audible click, ignoring the hot tea that sloshed onto his hand.  
  
"Good night," he murmured as he left the kitchen.  
  
"Well, that went well," Alfred said dryly.  
  
Dick had left Bruce's office at WayneTech headquarters largely untouched. The only concession he had made in redecorating was to remove the generic modern art paintings, that Bruce had placed on the walls simply to cover them, and replace them with framed circus posterbills.  
  
He sat at the huge mahogany desk, a thick binder filled with pie charts, graphs and lots of numbers open before him. The numbers had ceased to make sense to him hours ago and now he was just trying to absorb all the pretty colors in all the pretty graphs. Gradually his eyes began to close and his head began to sink towards the desk. He jerked awake with a start. It was the third time he had started to fall asleep in the last half hour.  
  
His eyes drifted over to the long, leather couch. It looked so comfortable, so inviting. For a moment he thought he could actually hear it calling to him. Dick, come lay down and close your eyes, just for a few minutes. No one will notice. For a moment he was so tempted to give in to that voice. He gave his head a determined shake.  
  
No, I've got a board meeting in two hours and I can't even finish reading the report. How am I going to stay awake for the entire meeting, Dick thought. Maybe if I have Vicki hook me up to an intravenous coffee drip, I could stay awake.  
  
He was just reaching over to press the call button on the intercom to ask Vicki, his secretary to bring him some coffee, when the intercom beeped at him instead.  
  
Pressing the answer button, he said, "Yes, Vicki?"  
  
"I'm sorry to disturb you Mr. Grayson, but you have some visitors here. I tried to tell them that you were very busy preparing for your board meeting this afternoon, but they have been most insistent on seeing you."  
  
Dick heard some muffled noises over the intercom and a soft gasp. Vicki's cultured tones were abruptly replaced by a loud male voice booming into the speakers.  
  
"Come on, Grayson, it's past noon, you gotta eat some time."  
  
"Roy?" Dick asked.  
  
"Hey, give that man a cigar!"  
  
In the background, Dick heard a familiar female voice. "Roy, stop that, you're embarrassing us!"  
  
"I take it, that's Donna with you?" he asked.  
  
"He's two for two," Roy's cheerful voice continued. "And now for the bonus round. Can you guess who Mystery Guest number three is?"  
  
"Uh, Wally?"  
  
"Oh, he is good! …Dick, Man, can we come in already? If you don't give us the okay soon, I think the babe here is gonna call security. And you know I don't want to have to hurt anybody."  
  
Dick chuckled softly to himself. "It's okay Vicki, they can come in."  
  
"As you wish, Mr. Grayson," Vicki's voice fairly dripped with disapproval.  
  
The door to his office opened and his three friends trooped in, looking very casual. He could see why Vicki had been skeptical about them. She had never seen Dick in anything but a suit and so probably had no idea that he had friends who would dress any differently.  
  
"Dick, we're so sorry about barging in on you like this," Donna said, "but we were in the city and thought we'd see how you were doing. We haven't seen or heard from you since the funeral. And I do apologize for Roy's behavior, I knew I should have put him on a leash before we walked in the building."  
  
For emphasis, she slugged the red-haired archer in the upper arm.  
  
"Ow! Hey, watch it with the super strength there, Wonder Babe, that's my sighting arm," Roy said, rubbing his sore left arm.  
  
"You deserved it. You were acting like a child. Sometimes I worry that you're a bad influence on Lian."  
  
"Hey, it's all part of the Harper charm."  
  
Donna rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  
  
While the two former lovers continued to banter good-naturedly, Wally drifted closer to the desk. When the others entered, Dick had stood and moved around to the front of the desk and was now leaning against it, one leg draped across the nearest corner.  
  
"So, how are you holding up?" Wally asked quietly.  
  
"It's been pretty hectic, but I'm okay."  
  
"You sure? You look like hell."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure. I'm just having a little trouble sleeping these days. Of course the board meeting I've got this afternoon should take care of that."  
  
"Oh, yeah, sounds like a blast. Listen, come buy lunch for us and we'll help you unwind. It'll be good for you. In fact, why don't you just blow off this board meeting and we'll have some real fun."  
  
"Wally, I'd love to, really, but I can't. I've got too much to do. It's not just the board meeting. I've got a thousand other things that need my attention."  
  
"Come on, what could be more important than hanging out with your three oldest friends?" Roy said as he and Donna drifted over to join the conversation. "Friends that you have been severely neglecting of late, by the way. And besides, a guy your age should not be spending all of his time worrying about board meetings. You should be out cruising the bars, looking to get laid, not that that's ever been a problem for you."  
  
"Roy, I have never cruised a bar in my life and I have no intention of starting now. And we all know that I don't spend all of my time worrying about board meetings."  
  
"Yes, that's something else we wanted to talk to you about," Donna said hesitantly. "We think that maybe you should cut back on that a little bit."  
  
"Oh, do we?"  
  
"Dick, not even Bruce went out every single night. Even he took some time off. He went out, he had a social life, even if it was a pretend one."  
  
"Yeah, ever since we got into the city all we've heard is lamenting from the gossip rags about how Gotham's newest Most Eligible Bachelor is a virtual hermit," Roy added. "You know, Grayson, you're drawing more attention to yourself by not living up to their expectations than you would if you did. Somehow, I don't think that's what you intended."  
  
Dick sighed. Roy had a point, one that he hadn't considered. He hadn't noticed that the gossip papers were paying such close attention to his activities, or lack thereof. Hell, he hadn't noticed much of anything that didn't directly involve WayneTech or fighting crime. But to let up now seemed so much like he was letting someone down, although he wasn't quite sure who that someone was.  
  
"Dick, please come to lunch with us," Donna asked. "You look like you've lost weight. You haven't been eating much, have you?"  
  
He couldn't help but smile. He never could hide anything from Donna. He looked up and saw the concern in her clear blue eyes. Glancing at Roy and Wally, he saw her concern mirrored in their eyes as well. But instead of touching a sympathetic chord in him, their concern only irritated him. It told him that like everyone else, they did not think he was capable of handling the job. His smile quickly faded.  
  
"I'm fine," he said coolly.  
  
Noting his abrupt mood change, the other three glanced at each other. They knew him well enough to know that they had somehow entered dangerous territory. They would need to proceed cautiously.  
  
"Honey, look, we're not trying to act like overprotective parents here, but please try to understand that we're concerned about you," Donna said, soothingly.  
  
"And we're not the only ones," Wally spoke up, starting to get impatient with Dick's defensive attitude. "The Oracle contacted Superman at the Watchtower yesterday and-."  
  
"Wait a minute," Dick interrupted, "the Oracle contacted Superman?"  
  
"Oh, Wally…," Donna whined.  
  
"Good one, Dude," Roy whispered dryly, patting the speedster on the back. "Let's get him really pissed off."  
  
"What?" Wally asked, glancing at his two co-conspirators. "Look, I don't know about you two, but I'm getting tired of pussy-footing around. Dick, you're acting like a jerk! You fired Robin, you disconnected the Oracle and now you won't talk to us. Just what the hell is up your ass, Grayson?"  
  
"My father has died and my life has been turned completely upside- down, excuse me if I'm not adjusting quickly enough for you."  
  
"Dick, look, I'm sorry. Okay, that was out of line, but you have got to let someone help you before you kill yourself. You know, Bruce didn't do this job alone. He had help. He-."  
  
"Oh no, don't you dare try to tell me what Bruce did or didn't do. How the hell would you know? And how dare you come into my city and try to tell me what I should or shouldn't do."  
  
"Your city?" Roy said softly. "Doesn't that sound familiar?"  
  
"Don't go there, Harper."  
  
"Dick…," Wally started.  
  
"Get out."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get out of my office. Get out of my building. And get the hell out of my city."  
  
"Dick, please…," Donna said.  
  
"Get out or I will have security escort you out," Dick whispered dangerously.  
  
"Come on, guys, let's go," Roy said, starting to usher the others toward the door.  
  
Donna hesitated for a moment watching Dick, but he had turned his back and stalked around the desk to resume his seat. He did not look up at her. She turned and followed Roy and Wally out, feeling like a part of her soul had just been carved away.  
  
Dick sat staring unseeing at the binder in front of him long after the soft sounds of their footsteps had receded and the door had clicked shut behind them. Now that his anger had faded, he realized that he had just alienated the last of the people who truly cared about him.  
  
What the hell is the matter with me? Why do I keep doing this, he screamed in his mind. His eyes fell on the picture of he and Bruce that he had found on the desk earlier. Did you really love me, he silently asked the image of his foster father. Did you even care at all? Why couldn't you just tell me?!  
  
A sudden uncontrollable rage flared in him and grabbing the picture he threw it across the room where it smashed against the far wall. Almost immediately the door to his office burst open as his secretary and a security guard rushed inside.  
  
"Mr. Grayson, is everything alright?" the guard asked.  
  
"Get out!" Dick yelled. "Get out and stay out!"  
  
Appreciatively cowed, the man and the woman quickly backed out, closing the door behind them. Alone and suddenly completely exhausted, his head pounding mercilessly, Dick collapsed onto the leather couch. 


	2. part 2

1 Dick awoke several hours later. His office was now cloaked in shadow, the sun having nearly disappeared under the horizon. He found that at sometime during his nap, someone had disobeyed his order to stay out as his shoes had been removed, his tie and shirt loosened and a light blanket had been thrown over him. He found it a bit disconcerting to realize that someone had touched him in his sleep and he had obviously been oblivious to it.  
  
His head was pounding horribly and he felt nauseous, his body screaming for more sleep. Resolutely forcing himself into a sitting position, Dick ran a hand through his hair and looked around groggily. He could just see the clock on his desk. It read 7:30. Wow, he thought, everyone's probably gone home for the day. Alfred should have come to pick me up hours ago.  
  
With a smile, he realized that Alfred probably had come by. He had probably been the one brave enough to enter the office. With a groan, Dick dragged himself off the couch and stretched his stiff body. Trying to rub the kinks out of his neck, he wandered over to look out the huge wall of glass at the back of the office. The sight of the batsignal burning into the black night jolted him back to reality. Naptime's over, Grayson, time to get back to work.  
  
Knowing that Bruce had a secret elevator that connected his office to a secret room down in the garage level of the building, Dick went to the east wall and activated the panel that concealed it. The secret room below housed a uniform and a batcycle. If he moved quickly, he could be at police headquarters in a half hour.  
  
Superman stood atop the 60-story Montgomery Building surveying Metropolis. It had been a quiet day and he was feeling relaxed and contented. A sudden displacement of air that made his cape flutter announced the arrival of the Flash. Superman turned to his right to face the speedster.  
  
"Flash," he said, nodding his head in greeting.  
  
"Superman."  
  
"So, how did things go in Gotham City?" Superman asked, knowing how impatient Wally could be, he got right to the point.  
  
"Uh, not good."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"He threw us out."  
  
"He threw you out of his office?"  
  
"Actually, he threw us out of the city."  
  
"His city?"  
  
"Exactly… Clark, I've known Dick for a long time and I've never seen him act so erratic, so volatile. He's usually completely in control."  
  
"Hmmmm," Superman mused this silently. This was not what he wanted to hear. The Oracle had not exaggerated the situation. It was very possible that Batman was on the verge of losing control.  
  
If it had been Bruce Wayne that was out of control, Superman could have dealt with it. He wouldn't have liked it, but he could have dealt with it. He and Wayne had never exactly seen eye to eye and there had been no love lost between them. But Wayne was dead. This was his former ward, Dick Grayson. Superman had always liked Grayson. He had always been a good kid, conscientious, non-judgmental, hard working, easy-going, everything you could want in a crime-fighter. What had gone wrong? He desperately hoped that things in Gotham righted themselves, soon. He did not want to have to step in and straighten them out himself.  
  
Batman landed silently on the roof of police headquarters on the northeast corner, the corner furthest from where the batsignal was located. He moved to a position where he was still cloaked in shadow, but could see who was standing beside the new laser spotlight. It was Gordon and he was alone.  
  
Dick sighed. He hated lying to Gordon, hated pretending to be someone he was not. He had hated it before when he had temporarily taken over for Bruce. He hated it even more now. This time it wasn't temporary. Dick had infinite respect for James Gordon. He was a man who had known much tragedy and pain in his life, but had never lost his principles or his sense of honor. And he had carved out an impressive career despite being hampered by the rules, regulations and endless politics that Batman was able to circumvent.  
  
Maybe I should just tell him, Dick thought. Doesn't he, of all people, have a right to know the truth?… No, that's not fair to Bruce. I vowed to keep his secret.  
  
Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Dick glided as silent as a moonbeam across the roof, to emerge like an apparition into the glow of the batsignal. But unlike his predecessor, he did so across from Gordon, so that the older man would not be unduly startled by his abrupt appearance. That had always been a point of contention between Dick and Bruce. Dick had always felt that Gordon deserved more respect in that regard, save the cheap parlor tricks for spooking the lowlifes.  
  
"Commissioner," he said, using The Voice.  
  
"Batman," the commissioner's voice sounded cool.  
  
"You needed something?"  
  
Gordon was silent for a long moment, just staring at the dark-caped man who stood impassively before him.  
  
"I'm somewhat reluctant to tell you about this after what happened at the stock exchange, but …we have a jumper on the Nevers Building. Somehow he got past the security on the observation deck and made it out onto a ledge. My people are there, but we really can't get to him."  
  
"I can. I'm on it," Batman said turning and starting to play out a jumpline.  
  
"Batman," Gordon called.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"  
  
Damn. "No, sir."  
  
Gordon nodded, his face unreadable.  
  
For a short time in the 1920's, the 95-story Nevers Building had the distinction of being the tallest building in the world, until The Empire State Building in New York took over that honor in 1930. Despite the years, it was still a marvel of Art Deco architecture and an important historical landmark and tourist attraction for Gotham City.  
  
At the moment it was lit up like a Christmas tree. The police had the building fairly well surrounded, with a portable spotlight trained up at the mid-section of the building on the south face, while a police helicopter circled the higher floors. Dick tapped into the police radio band and listened in long enough to ascertain that the jumper was on the ledge just below the observation deck on the south face of the 80th floor.  
  
Dick had taken up his surveillance on the nearby Dalman Building, which was 100-stories tall. From his vantage point he could look down at the east face of the Nevers' observation deck. He already had his black nylon hang glider unfolded and lying on the roof beside him. It should be fairly easy to simply glide silently across the intervening space and land on the observation deck. The only hard part would be making sure that he cleared the five-foot high metal grill that surrounded the deck to discourage jumpers (the irony was not lost on him).  
  
Strapping himself into the lightweight frame, he stepped up onto the building ledge and leaped into the air. He felt the wind fill the nylon wings and lift him like a paper airplane, carrying him towards his destination. As the Nevers began rapidly filling his sightline, he tried to aim at a spot against the wall of the building above the metal grill. Bracing himself for impact, he hit his target perfectly, the aluminum glider frame crumpling against the wall. He and the glider slid down the wall, landing on the deck with a soft grunt. Not his best landing, but at least he had touched down where he had intended to.  
  
Freeing himself from the ruined glider, he moved to the ledge and climbed up onto the metal grill. Oblivious to the 80-story drop, he swung himself over the top of the grill and climbed down as far he could, then dropped the short distance to the ledge below. He cautiously walked along the ledge to the south face of the building.  
  
Rounding the corner, he saw the jumper about twenty yards away, clinging to a decorative concrete gargoyle attached to the building. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, with a sagging body, badly receding hairline and thick glasses. His brown suit was rumpled and Dick could just make out what appeared to be two small, fuzzy, pink bunny ears protruding from the pocket of the man's jacket.  
  
A police officer and a young woman in a powder blue suit, who Dick assumed was a psychologist, were speaking to the man through the grill, trying to talk him into letting them help him. Two more officers stood further back from the ledge preparing a safety harness in which to send an officer out onto the ledge.  
  
Focusing in on what the young woman was saying, Dick heard her implore the man to tell her what was wrong. The man did not respond and just stared vacantly out at the city.  
  
"Sir, please, talk to me," the woman begged. "I'm here to help you. But I can't help you unless you tell me what could possibly make you wish to end your own life."  
  
"What happened to your little girl?" Dick asked gently, trying not to startle the man.  
  
All eyes turned towards the black-clad man standing as calmly on the ledge as if he were standing in the middle of Robinson Park, oblivious to the way the wind tugged at his cape, making it curl outward like grasping claws. Batman moved forward, slowly, holding his empty hands out in front of him.  
  
"Oh, my God," the woman whispered, "he is real."  
  
"Wha-what did you say?" the man stuttered, finally finding his voice.  
  
"What happened to your little girl?" Batman repeated.  
  
"How did you-?"  
  
Batman pointed toward the man's hip and he looked down. Seeing what Batman had seen, the bunny ears, the man pulled a small, stuffed pink rabbit from his pocket. He stared down at it for a long moment, all the tension seeming to flow from his body.  
  
"My wife took her," the man said softly. "She left me and she took our little Samantha with her. I bought this for her, to put in her Easter basket. She loves bunnies. But when I got home from work, there was a note on the table from my wife. She said that she couldn't take it anymore and she was taking Sammy and moving back to her parents' house in Vermont."  
  
"What couldn't she take anymore?" Batman asked.  
  
"She said she was lonely. I work a lot. But I have to, do you have any idea how expensive it is to live in this city?"  
  
The man looked over at the vigilante beside him, realizing what he had just said.  
  
"Oh, uh, I suppose it's not really an issue for you, is it?" he asked sheepishly.  
  
"I have my own kind of rent control," Batman said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Seeing that the masked man was joking, the older man gave a short laugh, "Yeah, I'll bet you do."  
  
The stifling tension seemed to ease considerably.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Michael Hansell."  
  
"How old is Samantha, Mr. Hansell?"  
  
"She's seven. My wife and I tried to have children for many years and couldn't. We were beginning to think we'd never have any…and then Sammy came along. She was our little miracle…Oh God, what am I going to do? I can't lose her. I'll go insane."  
  
"Have you talked to your wife?"  
  
"I tried to call her, but she won't talk to me and she won't let me talk to Sammy. I have to see my daughter, I can't live without her!"  
  
"Please calm down, Mr. Hansell, I'm sure your wife is just angry. Once she calms down, she'll talk to you. You just have to keep trying."  
  
"I have tried, but how can I get through to her if she won't even talk to me? Her mother told me that if I tried to see them in person she'd get a restraining order. What did I do to deserve this? All I ever did was try to provide for my family. My job pays very well, but it's tough, it's very competitive. If I let up, they'll replace me with some young punk right out of grad school. I can't let up, I'll lose the edge."  
  
"So, instead you lose your family."  
  
Hansell looked over at the other man for a moment. His shoulders slumped and he turned away, staring down at the city street far below.  
  
"You're right. I'm a horrible father and a horrible husband. I don't deserve them. I should just get out of their lives entirely."  
  
"No," Batman said quickly, taking a step closer, "that's not what I meant. What I meant is that your wife and your job appear to be incompatible. Perhaps you're going to have to make a choice between the two."  
  
"But I-I can't do that, my job is my life. It's what I do. I'm good at it, damn good. I worked very hard to get to where I am. Why should I have to give up everything, just because she says so?"  
  
"Because that's what you do when you love someone, you give up your life for them," Dick said quietly.  
  
"But that's not fair."  
  
"No, it isn't."  
  
"But she didn't have to give anything up, why does she get to call the shots?" Hansell whined. "Why do I have to make all the sacrifices? Why is everyone against me?"  
  
"Mr. Hansell, do you love your daughter?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Do you want to see her again?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then do what you have to do."  
  
"But…"  
  
Dick was no longer listening. The man's whining and hedging were beginning to annoy him. He claimed that he loved his wife and daughter and yet seemed unwilling to do what was necessary to get them back. Suicide was evidently a more attractive alternative.  
  
Dick didn't have any children, so he couldn't truly empathize with the man's plight. But Dick couldn't imagine that if someone were trying to take Lian away from Roy Harper, he would sit around wallowing in self-pity, refusing to take responsibility or action. In fact, Roy had had to fight to get custody of Lian in the first place. He had probably been more than half this man's age and yet had shown far more maturity. He had swallowed his pride, allowing himself to be humbled before a judge, his many mistakes and shortcomings paraded out for everyone to see. But he had done it for Lian. Michael Hansell's inability to do the same was incomprehensible to Dick.  
  
"Shut up," Batman said quietly, interrupting Hansell in mid-whine.  
  
"What?"  
  
"How dare you stand here and tell me that you can't live without your wife and daughter when you aren't even willing to do what is easily within your power to do to get them back. You don't really want to die, you just want to punish your wife for having the gall to leave you and make you feel guilty for being so selfish."  
  
"No, that's not true…"  
  
"Oh really? Then why are you here? Why is suicide an option for you, but quitting your job is not?"  
  
"I…I…"  
  
"Um, excuse me, Batman?" the psychologist called softly from the other side of the grill.  
  
She and the police officers had been listening silently to the entire conversation, not wishing to distract. Batman seemed to be doing better than they had been at getting the man to open up, but she felt now that she needed to interrupt. She had been trained that when dealing with someone who was suicidal and in imminent danger, it was best to just agree with them, soothe them and not get them agitated until they were out of danger. It was becoming obvious that the conversation was growing heated and the tension was mounting. Both Hansell and Batman were becoming dangerously agitated.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am?" Batman asked tightly, turning to look at the young woman, irritated at her interruption.  
  
"Perhaps it would be best if I took over now. I think Mr. Hansell is becoming a little agitated."  
  
"Yeah," Hansell said, "I didn't come up here to be insulted."  
  
"No, you came up here to kill yourself, remember?" Batman asked. "Or was it just to get attention?"  
  
"Hey, now!" Hansell cried, "You look here, I was serious about this."  
  
"You were serious? You mean, you're not now? You dragged all these people up here, all these police officers, firefighters, this psychologist, and now you're not serious? There's a helicopter circling us, for God's sake! Have you any idea how much your little fifteen minutes of fame is going to cost this city?"  
  
The man's eyes widened and he blanched somewhat.  
  
"I-no, I-I'm still serious," he stammered.  
  
"Good, I would certainly hate to think that you wasted all these people's valuable time for nothing. I mean, they could be out catching dangerous criminals and saving lives, rather than standing around baby-sitting you."  
  
"Uh, Batman…" the psychologist started again.  
  
The caped vigilante just ignored her, continuing to vent his righteous anger at the unfortunate Hansell.  
  
"All right then, let's get this show on the road. Let's give these people their money's worth. You are absolutely right, your wife is never coming back to you and she will never let you see your daughter again, because you aren't willing to make the necessary sacrifices to get them back. So, you'll never see them again. And since, death seems to be a more attractive option than quitting your job, let's do it. Let's just get it over with right now."  
  
"W-wha-what?!" Hansell stammered.  
  
"Batman…," the psychologist whispered, panicked.  
  
"Let's do it. Let's show her what happens when she gives an ultimatum. Let's show her that we can't be pushed. Let's show her who's in charge. Let's jump," Batman said, grabbing Hansell's wrist.  
  
"W-wait a minute, maybe we should-."  
  
"Come on, Hansell, this is what you wanted, isn't it? You can't live without your family and you can't live without your job, what's left?"  
  
"W-well, I-I…"  
  
Batman jerked the man close, so that their faces were practically nose-to- nose.  
  
"Don't tell me that you wasted my time," he said softly, using The Voice.  
  
"I…oh, God…"  
  
Without another word, Batman leaped out into open air, dragging the hapless Hansell with him. The man's scream pierced the darkness as they fell. For a moment that seemed like an eternity, they flew. Batman's voluminous cape billowed out behind them like the wings of his namesake. For Dick, it was a moment of pure perfection. Time moved backwards and he was once again hanging suspended above the sawdust floor of the Haly Bros. bigtop, the roar of the crowd filling his ears. He was at one with himself and the universe.  
  
Glancing over at Hansell floating beside him, the moment was shattered. The man's face was a mask of pure terror. Oh God, what have I done, Dick thought. I'm going to kill him. The man looked as though he could have a heart attack at any moment.  
  
Deploying a grappling line, which wrapped itself around a ventilation shaft on the roof of a lower building, the D-cell line stretched as he swung out on it, using it to slow their descent. Glancing down at the street, which was still some distance below them, he saw that the firefighters had already set up a huge air bag, like the ones used by stunt men. Pure instinct and experience took over and Dick knew that with their current angle of trajectory, they would miss the air bag by several hundred feet.  
  
Releasing both the jumpline and Hansell's hand, Batman tucked and somersaulted in mid-air, reversing his direction. Grabbing onto Hansell again, he jerked the man along in the new direction, aiming for the air bag below. Seeing a streetlight fast approaching, Batman once again released the other man's hand and pulled his arms, legs and cape in tight to his body, increasing the rate of his descent. This would have to be timed perfectly.  
  
As the horizontal arm of the streetlight came into reach, he grasped it with both hands, allowing his momentum to flip him over the top of the arm. Tucking his legs in, he hooked them over the arm and released his hands. Now swinging from his legs, he reached out to grab Hansell's flailing arms and literally slung him towards the air bag. Hansell landed perfectly on his back in the middle of the air bag with a grunt of exhaled breath. Batman released his legs, using the rest of his swing to propel him into a flip. He landed in the street, tucking and rolling to absorb the force of the impact.  
  
Instantly there was frantic activity all around him, as firefighters and paramedics rushed to free the panicked Hansell from the airbag. Dick watched for a moment until his eye caught Commissioner Gordon standing in the background. Gordon was looking at him, his face a mask of carefully contained fury. He jerked his head toward a nearby alley then turned to stalk off in that direction. With a sigh, Dick started to follow. The alley was dark and deserted and no one passing the entrance to it paid any attention to the two men standing in the shadows glaring at each other.  
  
"What in God's name was that little display?!" Gordon demanded, his anger held tightly in check.  
  
"I-I don't know," was all Dick could say, suddenly very, very tired.  
  
"You don't know? That man could have had a heart attack. Hell, I could have had a heart attack. You could have miscalculated something. You could have… There were far too many variables for you to deliberate put that man's life at risk."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"That's it, you're sorry? …Who are you? You are not the man I know."  
  
"I…"  
  
"You're the other one, the one that took over for a short time a few years ago, aren't you? How stupid do you people think I am? Do you think that I don't notice when you're entire body type changes? You are several inches shorter and have a significantly smaller build. Your fighting style is different. You are much more athletic and acrobatic. Not to mention, the fact that the other one was in his early-to-mid forties, you are at least twenty years younger. I was once a detective, too, you know. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?  
  
"So, where is the other one? Is he injured? On vacation? Or is this some kind of on-the-job-training?"  
  
"No sir, it's none of those things. It's…the other one won't be coming back, I'm Batman now."  
  
"No, no you're not."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You are not Batman. Not as far as I'm concerned. I refuse to work with someone who could pull the stunts that you've been pulling for the past few weeks. I can't work with someone with such little regard for human life."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I can't trust you to protect victims, I can't trust you not to kill criminals, because I can't trust you not to kill yourself. I can't trust you at all. I am hereby officially ordering you to cease and desist all of your vigilante activities within the city limits of Gotham City. If you do not, I will take you down, personally."  
  
With those words, Gordon turned on his heel and stomped out of the alley, leaving Dick stunned and speechless.  
  
The batcycle pulled into the cave and Dick slowly stepped away from it. His movements were wooden and awkward, as if all the life and human grace had been drained out of him and he was a soulless marionette. He wished it were true, wished he was an unfeeling robot, free from the gnawing guilt and desolate loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
Thankfully Alfred was not present. Dick couldn't bear the thought of company, couldn't bear the thought of the elderly butler trying to offer words of comfort that he didn't deserve. Perhaps the older man didn't feel that Dick deserved them either and that's why he was absent. Perhaps Dick had finally managed to drive him away as well.  
  
Dick stood in the middle of the cave, too tired to walk up the stairs to the manor. Pushing back the cowl, he moved to the computer. Perhaps work would take his mind off his troubles. He stopped and just stared at the huge machine, suddenly overcome by the futility of it all. Why am I doing this, he asked himself. Am I even making a difference? Hell, Gordon doesn't even want my help, so why should I bother?  
  
Dick slowly sank down to sit on the floor, his back against the computer. He hugged his knees in to his chest and wrapped his cape tightly around himself, suddenly very, very cold. It was as if he had been transported back to his childhood, to the day after his parents' funeral. He was back in the Gotham City Youth Center, alone and abandoned.  
  
He remembered his parents' funeral, it had seemed like the longest day of his life. John and Mary Grayson had been buried in a small cemetery just outside of the Gotham City limits. There hadn't been enough money to have their bodies shipped back to England, to be buried with the rest of the Grayson clan. Besides, Dick had been turned over to Gotham County juvenile authorities and they would not allow him to leave the county. But his parents had been buried together and they had been given a traditional Romany funeral and that was what mattered most.  
  
He remembered standing before their open caskets. They were laid out in their best clothes; his father in the one suit that he owned, and his mother in her favorite church dress, the light blue one, with the little pink flowers all over it. They looked so lifelike, as if they were just sleeping, although Dick knew that they would never wake up again.  
  
He remembered Gramma Lilya placing the two bundles wrapped in brown paper in his arms and giving him a gentle push towards the coffins. He stepped closer, placing one of the bundles in each of the coffins at his parents' feet. The bundles contained more clothing, several sandwiches and a couple of bottles of beer for John and a bottle of wine for Mary.  
  
"These bundles have food and drink, so that you will have something to sustain you on your journey to the Otherworld," Dick said solemnly to his dead parents, using the phrases that Lilya had taught him. "There is also clothing so that you may be properly dressed in the Otherworld."  
  
Lilya stepped forward and placed a handful of solid gold coins into Dick's small hands. The boy took the coins and sprinkled them over his parents' bodies.  
  
"And lastly, gold, so that you may pay your own way into the Otherworld," he said.  
  
After the funeral, all the members of Haly's Circus had gathered around the Graysons' train car. With the exception of Dick's own personal possessions and a few precious mementoes, the entire car and everything in it had been liberally doused with gasoline. Pop Haly had come forward with a burning torch, which he handed to the small boy. Taking a deep breath, Dick accepted the torch and tossed it into the open door of the car. Pop Haly gently pulled him back as the flames sprang up quickly and began to engulf the car. Dick watched sadly as his former life burned before his eyes.  
  
The act of burning the possessions of the dead was a means of sending those things into the Otherworld for continued use by the dead. The Romany believed that it was the responsibility of the living to send the dead off properly equipped for their journey to, and life in, the Otherworld. If the living failed in this duty, the dead might take offense and not depart peacefully. They might remain to haunt and hinder the living.  
  
Is that why you continue to haunt me, Bruce, Dick thought sadly, because I didn't send you off properly?  
  
Dick had wanted to go through the traditional rituals of sending off the dead for his foster father, but Lucius Fox had talked him out of it, pointing out that many of the country's elite would be attending the funeral and would probably not understand or appreciate the gesture. Reluctantly, Dick had agreed and had allowed Lucius to make most of the arrangements. Bruce's funeral had been stiflingly formal and completely devoid of anything that hinted at the true personality of the man being honored.  
  
Although he had never said anything to Lucius, this had greatly disturbed Dick. Romany funerals were all about celebrating and soothing the dead, making sure that the deceased knew that they had been loved and would be remembered. Bruce's funeral had been all about soothing the living, making sure that their grief was assuaged, their pain lessened.  
  
Have I wronged you, Bruce, in not giving you a proper send off? All this time I've been angry at you for not telling me that you loved me, when I haven't properly shown that I loved you...  
  
Oh, Bruce, how did I screw up so badly? And what do I do to fix it? I have alienated myself from everyone, Tim, Barbara, the Titans, Alfred and Leslie, and now, even Gordon. He actually told me that he wouldn't support me as Batman. How's that for a kick in the groin?  
  
Surprisingly, Dick found that the thought of alienating Gordon hurt the most. Perhaps it was because he knew that he could probably regain the love and trust of the others. He had hurt them, but the wounds were not fatal. But could he repair the damage he had done to his relationship with Gordon? So much of that relationship was based on blind faith and he had betrayed that faith. Could Gordon ever forgive him, ever trust him again?  
  
Gordon had been right. Dick had been acting irrationally and irresponsibly. He knew that now. He knew that he needed help, but was it too late? He prayed that it wasn't. He didn't know if he could bear to lose another father figure. And he realized that that was exactly what James Gordon was. He had, in many respects, played just as big a role in shaping Dick's personality, his sense of honor and justice, as had Batman or even John Grayson. Dick knew that he couldn't lose Gordon, too, and especially not like this.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading from the manor. He turned to see Alfred descending towards him. The elderly butler paused, seeing him huddled on the floor.  
  
"Master Dick, are you all right? Doctor Thompkins is upstairs, shall I fetch her?" the older man asked.  
  
"No, Alfred, I'm alright, thank you," Dick answered, starting to stand.  
  
"Of course, sir. I just came to tell you that you have a visitor."  
  
"I'm really not in the mood to talk to anyone. Could you just tell them that I'm very busy right now?"  
  
"I think, perhaps, you might wish to see this visitor. It's Commissioner Gordon."  
  
"Oh, uh, yes, tell him I'll be right with him."  
  
"Very good, sir. I'll have him wait for you in the library," the butler said, turning and heading back up the stairs.  
  
"Yes, thank you, Alfred," Dick said absently.  
  
After a very quick shower, Dick changed into a pair of sweat pants and an old Gotham Knights t-shirt. He threw on a hooded sweat jacket as he padded, bare-foot toward the library. He found the commissioner standing in front of the fireplace in the small, book-lined room. Alfred had thoughtfully started a fire to ward off the chill of the early spring evening and had provided the guest with a hot cup of tea. Gordon stood cradling the delicate china awkwardly in his big hands as though he were afraid that at any moment the cup and saucer might simply shatter of their own accord.  
  
"Uh, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Commissioner," Dick said as he entered the room. "I was just working out in the gym. I thought I should take a quick shower so I didn't completely offend you."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about it," Gordon said quickly. "I used to be a police officer, for heaven's sake, I think I can stand the smell of sweat."  
  
"Yes, well, please have a seat."  
  
The two men sat in the well-padded chairs that faced the fireplace and Gordon set the cup and saucer down on a nearby table, looking quite relieved to be rid of them.  
  
Turning to face the young man, Gordon said, "I'm sorry, to intrude on you so late at night, but I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I was so harsh with you earlier this evening."  
  
Dick froze, his heart skipping a beat.  
  
"Excuse me?" he said, carefully keeping his face neutral. "I don't recall seeing you at all today, Commissioner."  
  
"Of course you do," Gordon said calmly. "In the alley by the Nevers Building, when I bawled you out."  
  
Dick sat for a moment, numb, not sure how he was supposed to respond.  
  
"You know?" he finally managed to whisper.  
  
"I've known for many years that Bruce Wayne was Batman. It took me a long time to figure it out, but I did. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that if Wayne is Batman, Dick Grayson is Robin. I also couldn't help but notice that Robin disappeared right about the same time that Dick Grayson moved out of Wayne Manor. Oh, Robin showed up again, somehow magically transformed back into a pre-teen, right about the time that Bruce Wayne took in another orphan named Jason Todd.  
  
"Then that Robin disappeared abruptly also. The same time that Jason Todd rather mysteriously died. Of course, now there's a new Robin. Him, I haven't figured out yet. But don't tell me, I'll figure him out eventually.  
  
"Meanwhile, I started hearing reports about a new vigilante named Nightwing operating out of New York. He even started showing up here in Gotham City, coincidentally, right around the time that Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson managed to patch up their relationship. Now, this Nightwing, he looked very familiar. His moves were familiar, very athletic, very acrobatic, a lot like the original Robin was, a lot like someone raised in a circus.  
  
"And now, Bruce Wayne is dead. Batman is still around, but Nightwing has suddenly disappeared and Batman is suddenly smaller and moves like Nightwing. Like I said, it doesn't take a rocket scientist."  
  
Dick felt like a semi-truck had just been lifted off his shoulders.  
  
"Did Bruce know that you knew?"  
  
"It doesn't really matter. I wasn't supposed to know, so I acted like I didn't. It seemed better that way. I always felt that maybe, Bruce needed his masks…You know, I always felt that you were better suited, psychologically, for this whole vigilante thing. You didn't seem to split your life into separate compartments, never allowing those things to overlap, like Bruce did. You always seemed to have a better outlook on things. Now, I'm not so sure. I have to tell you, Son, I'm worried about you. Maybe I was a little hard on you earlier, but I still mean what I said. I can't trust you as Batman if I think you've got a death wish."  
  
"I know, sir, and you were right," Dick said softly. He looked up at the older man, holding his gaze. "I am sorry. I don't know what's happening. I just know that I feel so empty and so…"  
  
"Alone?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Gordon reached over and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder.  
  
"You are not alone. You have never been alone. I know Bruce could sometimes be distant and could seem unfeeling, but believe me, that man loved you and he was very proud of you."  
  
"He was?"  
  
"I remember a while back, it was at one of those Wayne Foundation charity things, formal affair. You were off flirting with some beautiful, young thing, probably Barbara. Bruce and I had been chatting with some of his executives, they were all bragging about their sons' accomplishments and Bruce was right there with them, bragging about you. Now, I know a lot of Bruce's public persona was just an act, but this wasn't, you could hear the pride in his voice.  
  
"There was another time, early in your career as Robin, the two of you had gone up against the Penguin and his gang, who were trying to steal some statue from the Museum of Fine Arts. Well, by the time I arrived with the boys in blue, you and Batman had pretty much taken care of the hired thugs, but Penguin had managed to slip out during the fight. You were standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, when you suddenly yelled that you saw the Penguin.  
  
"Before Batman could yell to you to stay where you were, you leaped off the balcony, did a couple of somersaults and flips and landed right on the Penguin as he was trying to waddle out. My boys and I were floored. We'd never seen anything like that. But Batman walked over and, in a stern voice, said you did a good job, but you should have waited for him and you shouldn't have been so flamboyant. But despite everything he'd just said, after you walked away, he glanced over at me and his face was absolutely beaming, he was so proud of you. He just didn't want you to get cocky and careless. He worried about you constantly."  
  
Dick looked up at Gordon.  
  
"Thank you, I really needed to hear that."  
  
"I thought you might've. Son, there's something you need to understand. Bruce Wayne was simply not capable of telling you that he loved you. I don't think he ever heard those words from his own father. I knew Thomas Wayne, briefly, before he died. For all that Bruce worshipped him, he was not an easy man to know either. He was distant and a bit cold also. As the cliché says: like father, like son.  
  
"Now, I've seen one man kill himself through an obsession with trying to prove himself to a ghost. I don't want to see that happen again. For your own sanity, you need to forgive Bruce for his inability to give you that one thing that you so desperately needed. But you also need to forgive yourself for needing it."  
  
The carefully constructed control that Dick had been fighting to maintain since Bruce's death finally crumbled and tears streamed down his face. Gordon stood and pulled the proud young man into his arms, holding him tight as the quiet sobs made his shoulders shake.  
  
"It's all right, Son, just let it go," he whispered softly. "Just let it go."  
  
Later Alfred and Leslie entered the room to find Gordon standing with his hands on Dick's shoulders, talking quietly to the younger man. Dick was much calmer now, but his eyes were red-rimmed and his face was streaked with tears.  
  
"Master Dick, is everything all right?" Alfred asked, concerned.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine," Dick said, smiling. "Really, I'm fine."  
  
Gordon was also smiling. "Don't worry, I think he really means it this time."  
  
"Alfred, Leslie, I am so sorry for the way that I've been acting lately. I have been such an ass."  
  
Leslie came forward and took his face in her hands and smiled warmly.  
  
"Yes, you have been," she said, "but as long as you understand that, you're forgiven."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Ah, Master Dick, it's good to have you back," Alfred said.  
  
"It's good to be back. But, I'm sorry, I hate to be a bad host and all, but I am suddenly exhausted. In fact, I'm so tired, I don't know if I can make it up the stairs to my bed."  
  
"Oh, don't worry, we'll help you," Leslie said, quickly. She had been waiting to hear those words for weeks.  
  
"You all have a good night," Gordon said, starting toward the door. "I can see myself out."  
  
"Commissioner," Dick's call stopped him, "thank you."  
  
"Yes," Leslie agreed, "thank you from all of us."  
  
Gordon smiled and gave a wave as he turned to try and navigate his way out of the maze that was Wayne Manor.  
  
A week later Gordon returned to the manor with his daughter. He parked his car out in front where several other cars were already parked.  
  
"So, what is all this?" Barbara asked. "Is Dick having a party? If you know what's going on, Dad, tell me. You know how I hate surprises."  
  
"I am as much in the dark as you are. I received the same mysterious, vague invitation that you did."  
  
Gordon moved around to Barbara's side of the car and helped her into her wheelchair. He knew very well that she was perfectly capable of doing it herself and, in fact, preferred to do so, but he liked to feel needed. Perhaps she sensed that, as she didn't put up a fuss like she usually did. Or perhaps her mind was too preoccupied with trying to figure out what Dick Grayson was up to. Gordon actually hoped that it was the latter. It was a good sign if her thoughts were dwelling on the young billionaire.  
  
They were greeted at the door by Alfred the butler, who ushered them inside with his usual formality. He informed them that "everyone" was gathered outside. As they were the last guests to arrive, the elderly butler offered to walk out to the garden with them. Although curious, neither father nor daughter asked the butler about the large paper sack that he carried with him.  
  
The night was brisk but bearable. Spring was definitely beginning to assert herself with old man winter. Out here, away from the glow of the city the diamond studded mantle of the night sky shown brightly in all its glory. The full, heavy moon hung tantalizingly low seemingly just out of reach.  
  
Towards the rear of the estate was a large, formal garden. In the summer it would abound with English roses, gladiolas, banks of French lavender, foxglove, and rows of trellised sweet peas, to name only a few of the plant varieties. This early in spring the garden was still largely bare and dead- looking, but a few perennials were starting to bud and here and there small purple crocuses dotted the still-brown landscape. They passed a large magnolia that was already showing the beginnings of pale pink flower buds.  
  
The commissioner and Barbara quickly noted that Alfred was leading them toward an orange glow coming from the very back of the garden. As they came to the top of a small hill, they saw several people gathered around a large bonfire. Moving closer, Barbara recognized the other members of Batman's team, as well as several members of the Titans, all dressed in civilian clothes. She also noted Wally West and Clark Kent, who was standing somewhat apart from the others. Dr. Thompkins was there as well, but there was no sign of Dick.  
  
Moving into the warm glow of the fire, the others turned to nod their greetings to the Gordons, many of them showing surprise at the presence of the commissioner. Barbara ignored the speculative glances thrown in her direction, her gaze drawn almost hypnotically to the dancing tongues of flames.  
  
After a moment, she became aware of a presence behind her. She turned her chair and looked up into the dark, shadowed eyes of Dick Grayson. He smiled at her and held out a hand.  
  
"Thank you for coming," he said quietly.  
  
She gazed up at him for a long moment, unmoving, before finally returning his smile and taking his hand. She gave his hand a slight squeeze.  
  
"I should kick your ass. You know that, don't you, Grayson?" she said still smiling.  
  
"Yeah, maybe later," he said, squeezing her hand back.  
  
She raised one eyebrow at the suggestion and regarded him with lowered lashes as he moved away to address the assembled group.  
  
"I would like to thank you all for answering my invitation," he said. "The fact that you all did, tells me that I haven't completely alienated you. I know that my behavior these past few weeks has been inexcusable and I would like to apologize to each of you for it. Obviously I was not as prepared to deal with Bruce's death as I thought I was. I know that several of you tried to point that out to me and I wish to thank you for the concern you showed for me. It did not go completely ignored I assure you."  
  
He paused for a moment to arrange his thoughts.  
  
"As many of you may or may not know, I am of Romany, or Gypsy, descent. My people take death and funerals very seriously. Unfortunately, for reasons I won't go into now, I did not give Bruce a proper Gypsy send-off and I think that's partly what has been bothering me these past few weeks. So, with all of you as witnesses I would like to correct that wrong…  
  
"Now, part of the traditional Romany funeral dictates that the dwelling and all the belongings of the deceased should be burned. But, don't worry, I'm not going to burn Wayne Manor, that would be a bit excessive, especially since it was only recently rebuilt. I am going to burn offerings as a means of sending them into the Otherworld for him. Alfred…"  
  
The butler stepped forward and handed the paper sack to his young master. Dick pulled a large box from the sack and held it out towards the fire.  
  
"Bruce," he said quietly, addressing the flames, "this box contains Alfred's famous chicken Kiev, your favorite, and a bottle of your best chardonnay. These are so that you will have food and drink to sustain you on your journey."  
  
Dick tossed the box into the fire and quickly stepped back. The box was quickly engulfed and after a few minutes, the flames flared up violently as they burned away the cork to the wine and the alcohol fed the fire. After the flames had died down somewhat, Dick returned to the paper sack and removed a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth. Shaking the bundle out, he held up one of Batman's old uniforms. There was the gray bodysuit and the dark blue cape and cowl.  
  
Again addressing the flames, Dick said, "I don't know if you'll be needing this in the Otherworld, but I know you probably feel naked without it. And we can't have you running around naked in the Otherworld, what would your parents think? Besides this suit is as much a part of who you really are as Wayne Manor is."  
  
Wadding the cloth back up into a tight bundle, he tossed it onto the fire. Once again reaching into the sack, Dick produced a small cloth bag, which he opened and upended, dumping it's contents into his hand. Several gold coins glittered warmly in the light of the flames.  
  
"I know that the Waynes have always prided themselves for their ability to pull their own weight and pay their own way, we can't go changing that tradition now, can we? This should see you into the next world," Dick said tossing the coins into the fire.  
  
"Bruce, I know that we always carefully avoided talking about our feelings, but I can't stay quiet anymore, I have to say it. You were the mentor that I desperately needed, the big brother that I never had, and the father that I lost … and I loved you. And so long as someone wears the cape and cowl that you designed, you will never be forgotten."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Dick stepped back from the fire. A profound hush had fallen over the assembled group, each person lost in his own thoughts. The only sounds were the pop and crackle of the fire as it ate away Dick's offerings, sending them onward, into the Otherworld.  
  
After a long moment, Dick moved to crouch beside Barbara's chair. Taking her hand in his, he said softly, "I am so sorry for everything. Can you forgive me?"  
  
She smiled warmly and touched his cheek.  
  
"Tell you what, why don't you stop by my apartment later tonight and we'll see if we can't find some way for you to make it up to me."  
  
"It's a date."  
  
Giving her had a squeeze, he stood and moved to where Tim was standing. There were tears on the young man's face, but he smiled faintly as Dick approached. Heartened by that smile, Dick returned it with his own.  
  
"So, am I forgiven, Partner?" he asked, holding out his hand.  
  
Tim looked down at the hand extended toward him as if he had never seen one before. Looking back up at Dick he said, "Oh, no, you're not getting off that easily."  
  
"Wha-?" Dick started to protest.  
  
Before he could finish, Tim lunged forward, throwing his arms around the older man, hugging him fiercely. Dick laughed and returned the hug. Abruptly Tim pulled away and glared up at Dick.  
  
"Don't you ever to that to me again!" he snapped.  
  
"I won't, I promise."  
  
"Good, that's the second time I've been fired. There better not be a third."  
  
Dick laughed and moved on to speak to the other members of the Bat squad and the Titans, making his apologies to each of them. Lastly, he approached Clark, who seemed very distant and cold. Dick was more than a little apprehensive.  
  
"Clark, I just want to say-."  
  
The tall journalist held a hand up, interrupting him.  
  
"No, don't apologize," he said. "You don't owe me one. In fact, I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have pushed you to join the Justice League so soon. I should have given you more time, more space. I shouldn't have expected you to be like Bruce, unfeeling.  
  
"I have to remember that you're different from Bruce, you're more human. And, take it from an alien, that's not a bad thing. But there's something I want you to remember. Bruce is gone. He's not coming back. You don't have to live in his shadow. You don't have to be the same Batman that he was. You can make the mantle your own. You are going to be living in that cowl for a long time, you may as well be comfortable in it."  
  
"Thank you, I'll think about what you've said."  
  
"Do that. And if you'd allow me, I'd like to help you keep an eye on things in Bludhaven. Maybe, between the two of us, we can keep making a difference there. You've got a lot of friends here who want to help you. Don't make the same mistake that Bruce made and shut them out. Burdens are so much easier to bear when they're shared."  
  
"Yes, I think I'm beginning to learn that lesson. And yes, I'd like to have you help me with Bludhaven. I'd hate to just abandon her. Thank you."  
  
"No, thank you, for letting me help," Clark said.  
  
The two men turned back to gaze at the bonfire, an easy silence falling between them. After a moment, Clark reached out hesitantly and laid his arm on Dick's shoulders. When the younger man did not flinch or pull away, he let it remain. He smiled contentedly to himself. Yes, he thought, Dick is definitely different from Bruce and that's not a bad thing. 


End file.
